


Sick Days and Flu Medicine

by Kieran_Bixbie



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Drug Use, Emetophilia, Gen, Omorashi, Sickfic, Vomiting, Watersports, all right 1 2 3 go, but akira is still high, i forgot, im disgusting, kinda? its flu medicine, theres tiny nsfw in there, this has been sitting in my drafts for some time now, this is so fucking self indulgent, very high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 21:59:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15471000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kieran_Bixbie/pseuds/Kieran_Bixbie
Summary: It’s the trademark of a true Akira Kojima sick day: a medicine high making it hard to muster any will to move and occasionally the internal debate of whether or not he should get up for some reason.





	Sick Days and Flu Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> once upon a time i played sano's route when i was really sick. the entire description of sano's latest victim is literally just me and i'm not kidding at all. i took no liberties. that's literally just me. they/them is used because f u c k the gender binary
> 
> flu medicine highs arent usually quite like this for me but consider: (a) akira takes waaaaaaay too much, (b) he's not human, and (c) that medicine was probably made by sano anyway
> 
> also please do not? look at me? i am disgusting???
> 
> and what the FUCK is up with that title. like really. i have so many book plans and a few written novels with such cool, interesting titles and then there's this

Sano’s latest victim had a bug of some kind, and this realization dawned on Akira far too late. They were a drunk college student who, from what he understood, spent too much time indoors and rarely left their computer unless they needed to sleep or go to class. Was it out of the question to believe that’s how they would naturally look under those circumstances? Sano’s records _clearly_ stated their diet was pretty bad as well.

But then they desperately begged for the restraints to be removed because they were going to be sick, and as soon as their upper body was free, they sat up quickly and started vomiting directly onto the floor. Akira hadn’t been there for that part, but he was informed of it. He dismissed it as fear, because they weren’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last person to be sick for those reasons. Nausea was a common reaction to fear, and when someone being held captive finds out the person holding them there isn’t human…

Well, that was what happened, and the whole idea of it is a mess waiting to happen. Some lose their minds as something inside them snaps. Some hyperventilate until they pass out, or puke on themselves, or start screaming and thrashing until Sano is forced to give them something to shut them up and make them still. Some with stronger wills continue to argue or take that opportunity to start yelling that Sano is something of a demon or a monster. It’s dangerous to argue with Sano, though, and more dangerous to scream insults, no matter how admirable the display of courage is.

Whatever it came down to, Akira’s latest lay, who turned into his brother’s latest _victim_ , was sick. What they had wasn’t clear, but now Akira is halfway submerged in regret while the other half is blissfully high on multipurpose flu medicine. It’s the trademark of a true Akira Kojima sick day: a medicine high making it hard to muster any will to move and occasionally the internal debate of whether or not he should get up for some reason.

The former isn’t a _bad_ feeling. In fact, being unable to think straight while in a mindset where he doesn’t _care_ that he can’t think straight is soothing and oddly therapeutic. As he’s lying in bed, curled into himself with the covers kicked off from his last fit of overheating, problems don’t exist. If a problem arises, it’s going to be so far off that it won’t matter until he lets himself come back down again.

Every time he feels himself sobering up a little too much, the heaviness easing from his limbs and his thoughts forming properly, he reaches for the cherry syrup sitting on his nightstand and takes more than any reasonable human ever should and waits for the effects of it to start coating his mind again. He doesn’t _want_ to be sober, not when that would mean feeling sore, drained, and unpleasantly tired. This is much better.

As much as he doesn’t want to, he knows nothing is going to get better if he doesn’t stay hydrated. He doesn’t open his eyes as he feels around for his water bottle. Instead of locating it, however, he knocks the syrup onto the floor. _Fuck._ He isn’t sure if he thinks it or actually mumbles it out loud, but he still doesn’t open his eyes as he continues trying to grab his water.

He isn’t sure why it’s pushed toward the middle of the nightstand, but that’s where he finds it. When he pulls it toward himself, he hears a clattering noise. He must have knocked his clock onto the floor, but it’s not the inconvenience that dropping the medicine was.

He barely manages to pull the top up with his teeth, but when he does, he starts sucking down the cool liquid. His throat suddenly feels like it’s been dry for a while prior, and it’s as though he hadn’t had anything to drink all day. Maybe he forgot to drink anything. He doesn’t remember.

Akira is pretty sure he should be fine by tomorrow evening, but he wants to milk this for all it’s worth. He hasn’t thrown up all day, the last time being somewhere in the late evening yesterday. He’s on his way to being fine. Just a little longer staying on the medicine and he’ll be all the way through it.

It occurs to him, as he swallows the last of the water he can stomach at the time, that he really probably should be getting to the bathroom. He doesn’t particularly _want_ to, and as it is, he didn’t mind going right there.

Somewhere in his mind, buried deep in incoherence and a break in his touch with the real world, is the reminder that he’s really going to care once he’s recovered and having to explain to his brother that he’d wet his bed like a child. Yes, he’s high, but no, that isn’t going to get rid of the embarrassment. He’s a rather shameless person by nature, but that would cross a line.

Also, with the part of his brain that _can_ think and process things, he’s almost positive Sano is going to think it’s a kink thing rather than an _I’m too high to move_ thing. He doesn’t need his _brother_ of all people judging him based on kinks he’s not actually acting on and thought processes he isn’t even fully capable of having.

His thigh twitches from the complete lack of activity within the past some-teen hours, and it makes him wonder if it’s at all in response to the pressure in his bladder. It twitches again, and that makes him wonder more.

This wondering doesn’t last any longer because he doesn’t have the brain power to keep it up.

Akira hasn’t the slightest idea how he went so long without realizing how bad he needed to go. It was a dull ache that makes him want to squirm, but he can’t tell if he’s actually moved at all. He just knows he’s going to have to get up at some point to use the bathroom, but he doesn’t want it to be anytime soon. Maybe if he goes to sleep he can ignore it longer. Maybe he can have another one of his trippy fever dreams and spend two whole waking hours afterward wondering if he’s _actually_ awake. Maybe pissing the bed would be less embarrassing if he does it asleep and can’t comprehend that it happened until he’s trying to get up. Maybe Sano won’t ask questions in the first place and he can mumble about being too high to understand he was awake and not have to justify himself further.

Maybe, now that it’s come idly to the surface, he can try to block out the reminder that Sano would be washing his sheets immediately afterward because he’s not going to let sick, soiled bedding go unwashed if he’s home. He’s going to check on Akira when he’s back home from wherever he is, he’s going to find the mess, and he’s going to relocate Akira while everything is being cleaned up.

Did Sano ever leave the house, though? Is he just in his lab, or maybe relaxing somewhere in the house? He could be cooking or cleaning or…

Does it even matter?

He lets out a heavy breath and his lungs ache to be filled again. He inhales sharply, deeply, almost desperately, and his head spins in a way that’s unpleasant. He’s lying down with his eyes barely open, so how a breath like that sent the room tilting and turning around him is a mystery.

“Fuck.”

He’s sure he said it out loud that time, but the effort of it makes him wonder why he bothered, why verbalizing it came so naturally.

Then he tenses for a second, realizing he’s going to piss himself if he doesn’t move. His bladder is aching worse now, and despite the energy it takes, he moves his position to help keep from losing control. He has to get up _very soon_ or he’s going to make a mess of his bed. He’s decided faintly that he doesn’t want that, but he also very much doesn’t want to get up.

His bladder pulses—he’s pretty sure it _does_ pulse, but the sensation could be something else—and he gasps softly, curling into himself instinctively before he notices how it makes it worse. He swears again, though this time he’s pretty sure it’s in Japanese, and fidgets.

He can’t add pressure with his hand and he’s pretty sure holding anything would result in failure, so he uses his wrist instead. He presses against his groin, feeling his cock is somehow hardening from this whole ordeal, and it relieves some of the strain. It’s nice like this, and it’s not completely from a need to keep from wetting himself that he starts grinding against his wrist. He’s pretty sure it’s purely his sudden sexual need making him do this, but he realizes right now that he _really_ wants to get off.

Some highs make him louder, some make him quieter. This one makes it so he can’t tell if he’s making noise at all as he grinds against himself. All he knows is that he’s breathing fast, his hips are moving erratically despite the haze, and pleasure is filling his mind.

And when he comes, it’s entirely too much. He knows now that he’s whining and writhing against the feeling of it as he continues, but when he’s aware of the pain with very little payoff, he stops.

Then he’s aware his stomach is gurgling. It’s churning and he’s feeling very sick. He thought the vomiting was over with. He thought he wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.

He hopes he’s miscalculating. His stomach does this on an average day. It gurgles and feels strange, and sometimes it feels like it’s acting up so much that it feels like it’s pushing the skin of his abdomen. But even now it’s impossible for him to deny that it never comes with _nausea_. It’s not the sounds or the bubbly feeling that’s making him feel sick, it’s all in the fact that’s he’s _sick_.

There’s more of a reason for him to get up now. He stopped sleeping with the bucket in his room because he was sure he was done with the puking part. In fact, he told Sano he no longer needed it when he was awake only a few hours ago. It was a mistake on his part, and he’s going to pay for it now.

When he sits up, it aggravates his stomach. He puts a hand over it to try calming it down, but it doesn’t work.

He stands up and falls. It doesn’t feel like he’s falling, more like the ground is rushing up to meet him and he has to brace his hands and knees against the impact. The pain doesn’t come, but the lurch of his stomach does, and he’s almost certain his bladder is going to burst.

Desperately, he crawls to the door. His body is trembling and his arms want to give out. He wants to go back to being perfectly, comfortable catatonic. His body is burning up.

Short-lived but genuine shock comes over him as he manages to open his door. He uses the doorknob to pull himself up, and he sways. He would have collapsed if he didn’t catch himself on his door frame.

As it turns out, Sano _is_ home. “Akira?” he calls.

Akira doesn’t know if he says anything, but he wants to believe he mumbled a reply. It might have been about how he absolutely isn’t going to make it to the bathroom before he pisses himself. It also might have been about how his stomach was upset, and while his throat isn’t raw from coughing thanks to the flu medicine he was taking, it might be rubbed raw anyway by the puke that’s probably going to come pouring out of his mouth.

Sano is coming into the hallway with a concerned expression just as Akira falls again. It’s too much as his knees hit the linoleum. His instincts kick in very slowly and his pants are already soaked through with urine as his thighs press together and his hand goes between his legs.

He has the sense to know he sobbed at that, which he soon finds out was a bad idea. There’s a hand on his shoulder, and then his back, as he gags. What comes up is watery but slightly reddish in color, and he isn’t able to lean forward quickly enough. It ends up on his pants with a little on his shirt.

Again he sobs and again he gags. More comes up, and he can’t tell what it is, but it’s got a sickly color to it and it’s thicker than the water that had just come up.

“Shit,” he whispers, and another mouthful of puke splashes onto his pants. They’re a mess now with _three_ different bodily fluids. His body is burning up and the hallway is whirling in a manner that causes him to cough. It sounds like something’s trying to come up, but nothing else does.

“Akira,” Sano says, and Akira can’t tell if it’s an _I’m really concerned for my brother_ voice or if it’s a _you’re officially my patient now, so I’m obligated to take care of you_ voice. It would be impossible to figure out right now and he doesn’t care enough to try. “Akira, you could have called for me.”

“B-but I— And—” He doesn’t know when he started crying or why or how much, but he’s almost frantic. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, only that he’s desperate and probably trying to justify himself.

“Akira, I need you to stop.” Sano’s voice is faraway but still firm, without any semblance of the detachment he usually speaks with. He takes Akira’s wrists tightly and holds the position for a moment. The younger of the two relaxes. He’s in the care of the best doctor he knows, so there’s no reason for him _not_ to relax. “I’m going to get you out of these clothes and run you a bath. You’ve had enough medicine and you’re not getting any more.”

There’s no sense of disgust in Sano’s voice or expression. He’s seen it all, inside and out, and Akira is pretty sure there’s little about the human body left that could stand a chance at fazing Sano.

Akira nods. He’s still not sure if he’s talking.

“You’re not bothering me.” Akira wonders why he’s being reassured, but it dawns on him quickly that he must have said something to prompt it. “These things happen. You should really tell someone before things turn into…” Sano makes a motion to the mess. “…this.”

Akira discovers he’s very tired after this whole ordeal. He almost wants to skip the bath and go directly back to bed. He knows Sano isn’t going to let that happen, though.

It isn’t weird to him to be taken care of by Sano, and frankly, it’s nice to know he’s in good hands when he clearly has no chance of taking care of himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i really hope my friends don't find this account and recognize that it's me
> 
> also consider: i also love very very nervous boys. figure out my future fic plans that way


End file.
